His Cuts
by TheGothicSadist
Summary: Canada is fed up with being ignored and walked over, but will his new obsession be to big of a price for him to pay?
1. Chapter 1

Canada sat down in his seat at the world meeting. He was the first one there, like always. China came in not too soon after and took his seat, and the other nations soon filed in after that. He heard the voices of all the other nations, the easiest ones to pick out was Italy's innocent 'Ve~'s and America's loud obnoxious voice, both of them having totally different conversations. The meeting began the second Germany walked through the door and called for silence. The meeting seemed to crawl by. Every time Canada would try to say something he'd be ignored, just like every meeting.

_It's not like anyone even values my opinion anyways._ A voice in the back of Canada's head said. He quickly shook that thought away; _Of course they do. _He said to himself. _America does. _He sat through the rest of the meeting in silence, listening to everyone talk about their own issues.

"Okay! Meeting adorned!" Germany called. Canada wasn't even paying attention to the blonde haired man. He slowly got up, and walked over to America.

"Hey man!" America called in his direction. Canada opened his mouth to answer, but England answered for him.

"You git, let's get going." America wrapped his arm around England's shoulder and they walked out of the room together. Canada stood there in disappointment.

"Who are you?" Kilimanjaro asked, looking up at the wavy-blonde haired man.

"I'm CANADA!" Canada felt tears welling at the corner of his eyes and her turned and ran. He ran all the way home. He let Kilimanjaro down as he ran to the door. He collapsed on his bed, sobbing. His mind flashed to a few days ago as he rubbed his wrist.

_I got out of bed, and looked at the pocket knife sitting next to me on my night stand. I had always been against cutting, because I saw how much it affected the people of my country, but I saw how effective it was for them. I picked it up and opened it up and just starred at the silver blade. I sat back down on my bed and just looked at the tiny thing. It was so sharp… Next thing I knew I was pulling it sharply against my skin. I sighed. I wasn't sure if I enjoyed it or not. I did it two more times. I turned on the light to look at what I had done. Blood pooled around the cut, I just looked at it. It was kinda pretty. I shook my head and went to wash them off so they wouldn't get infected. _I'm never doing that again. _I thought to myself._

Canada shook his head to get the thought out of his head. _I don't want to hurt myself. _But he couldn't help himself. He found himself going through his dresser drawer to look for that same knife. When he finally found it, he smiled. He held out his bare wrist that still had scabs from the other night. He took a sharp intake of breath as he counted out the cuts.

_One_

_Two_

_Three_

_Four_

_Five_

Blood ran lightly down his wrist. He cocked his head. _That feels nice. _He smiled. This was the best he's felt since… well the last time he had cut himself. He licked off the blood before it got on his sheets and stood up to go wash it off. When he got back into his room he fell into a contempt slumber.

**So, I've been contemplating writing this for a while now. Self-injury is a painful and difficult thing to go through. If you are contemplating self-injury of any form, think before you make that first cut, because once you start it is **impossible **to stop.**


	2. Chapter 2

Canada pulled down the sleeves of his shirt nervously as he walked into the McDonalds that he was supposed to meet Alfred at. He had no doubt that England would be there too, even if Al had to drag him.

"Yo! Mattie, ova here!" Mathew sighed, he was right. England looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. _Why does he always have to have him with us? _He asked himself as he sat down. He had no opinion on the British man, really, but he just wanted to have some time with his brother by himself.

"Mattie! Hello? You listening?" America asked, obnoxiously waving his hand in front of his eyes.

"Huh? What'd you say, sorry…" Mathew shrugged and pulled at his sleeves.

"I said that I already got you something." America pointed to a Big Mac, and some French-fries, which were sitting next to a large brown soda. Canada reached out to grab a French-fry and his shirt fell, just enough for America to see the small, red, cuts around his wrist. "Dude! What happened to your arm?" America asked, surprised, grabbing his arm and pushing up his sleeve. Canada rarely ever got hurt, and when he did he didn't say anything. _I suppose that's why they walk over me. _The little voice in the back of his head said.

"No—Nothing." Canada smiled sheepishly, hugging Kilimanjaro. "I just got scratched by a cat, is all." He pulled his arm away and pulled up his sleeve. America just nodded and went back to his stack of burgers. England casually leaned his head against America's shoulder, and America put his arm around him just as casually, and continued to eat his burgers. Canada finished eating as quick as he could, he was sick of it. Canada stood. "Well, thanks for the meal, but I better get going." He left before he got an answer, he didn't even think that his brother noticed him get up. _He probably forgot that I was even there._ Guessing by the way America was looking at England he did the second he let go of Canada's arm. Canada wanted to go home and scream. NO, he wanted to go home and draw the rough silver blade across his smooth pale skin, he wanted to see the blood pool, and then flow down his arm…

Canada pulled into his house and he sighed and banged his head on the steering-wheel. He sighed and picked up Kilimanjaro as he walked into his house. He didn't really want to do it right now, he wanted to wait until the day was over with, until after everything that was going to happen, happened. He sat down holding Kilimanjaro to his chest. All that ran through his mind was the feeling of blood rolling down his arm. He tried to turn on the TV, but that only made him more frustrated. He found himself getting up to get his pocket knife, he didn't even really decide to get it, he just did.

_I pulled open the drawer I kept my knife in, and pulled it out. It was an old Swiss army knife that I had gotten for my 10__th__ birthday. It was one of my favorite things; it had so many memories engraved into the handle, and blades. I opened it up and just looked at the way the thing glinted when light struck the blade. I flipped it over in my hands, just thinking about everything. I pushed up my sleeves and looked at the other almost healed cuts. I rubbed them before sharply pulling the blade against my soft scared skin. Once, twice, three times, four times… I soon lost track of it, I wasn't done until my arm was full. I fell back on my bed and looked at the red flowing down slowly my arms. I sighed and starred at it. It was so pretty, just flowing like that. I licked it off before it could drip onto the bed…_

**You're just going to have to wait to read the rest! I can't write anymore, I love this ending for this chapter.**


	3. Chapter 3

Canada blinked, trying to open his sleep-ridden eyes. He looked at the clock to check the time. His mind didn't fully register the time, so he looked at it once again; _7:00. _He didn't usually wake up so early, he usually woke up at 9:00 to do his morning chores, and make his breakfast. There was a loud pounding at the door, and he knew why he woke up so early.

"Yo! Mattie! Open up!" An obnoxious voice echoed all the way to the back of his house where his room is. He began to sit up when he caught sight of his arm; blood was dried from last night, and it was covered in cuts. He suddenly became overwhelmed with anger as he pulled on a sweatshirt. He walked briskly to the door where his brother was pounding away.

"What do you want?" He asked as he pulled open the door, maybe a little too angrily. To his surprise America seemed completely unaffected by his anger.

"Bro! I was wondering if you wanted to do something with me today." He barged in, shoving his face with hamburgers.

"You couldn't have called?" His voice was still as quiet as ever, but it had a sarcastic tone to it.

"Psh." America didn't seem effected by his slightly younger brother's anger in the least bit. "You seemed kinda pissed when you left yesterday." Canada went over to the coffee maker to get a bit of caffeine in his system. He just shrugged his shoulders.

"I was kind of annoyed that you drag England with us everywhere." Canada pushed his hand up his sleeve to feel his cuts. "You guys seem a little, uh, close."

"Bro, England and I are a couple." Canada didn't turn to see his brother's expression, but he could tell that he was smiling. Canada just stood there. He wasn't jealous, well, not for the reasons that others might be. England was stealing his brother from him. He rarely saw him as it was, and since they started dating…

"How long?" It was all he could say.

"What?"  
"How long? I asked you how long have you been with him." Canada didn't want to look his brother in the face; he just didn't want to see that sloppy grin.

"Six months."

"SIX MONTHS?" This time he did turn around. "You didn't tell me? I thought that you hated me—" His voice caught. _I was so lonely; I felt like no one cared, I wanted to __**die. **_

"Calm down! We didn't want anyone to know, we didn't know how long it would last. Can you imagine how it would make him look?"

"I'm your _brother_. We grew up together; you are the only one who remembers Mom. England just took care of us, it doesn't matter." Canada wanted to cry, but the tears just wouldn't come, he just couldn't, he wouldn't waste tears on his brother. America wasn't smiling anymore; he was just looking at the slightly smaller man.

"Do you not want me to be happy?" He asked after a long period of time.

"OF CORSE I DO! But when does anyone ever think of me? When do I ever get my opinion heard, when does anyone ever actually care about me. All anyone ever thinks about is themselves." Mathew fell to the ground, sobbing. "Nobody cares about me." He just rocked back and forth, repeating that sentence. America stood there, he didn't know what to say or do.

"I didn't know you felt that way." America whispered as he walked from the room; and the house. When Mathew stopped crying he stood and went to take a shower to wash his cuts.

**WOW! This was an angsty chapter! I'm giving Mathew the same feelings that I have, because we are almost the same. Anyways; Favourite; and review so I can get better. **


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